I swallow hard and force my breathing to slow despite the rapid beating of my heart. What he’s asking for isn’t unreasonable.
“And I want it in writing, Joaninha. I want to be added to his birth certificate. I want our visitation schedule in writing and signed or notarized or whatever it needs to be for it to be official. I can have the Pack lawyers handle it if need be, but I need to know you’re not going to disappear again and take him from me.”
My breath hitches and a trickle of apprehension slips beneath my skin. “I never meant—”
“It doesn’t matter. You did. I’m not risking that again, so those are my terms. I’ll pay child support or whatever. We’ll figure it out and I’ll do my part, but I want everything in writing so there is zero question that he is mine and I have rights.”
I lick my lips. “And if I don’t want to put everything in writing?” I ask because there is a needle of fear that tells me if I give him what he’s asking for, it will make it all the easier for him to one day take César away from me. I’m not saying he would, just…it’s a possibility. I don’t know Jordy. Not really. What if we get into an argument? What if he wants to take César out of town or to visit a distant relative and then never comes back. I know they’re what ifs, but that little boy is my entire world. The thought of losing him—
“Then the Pack will get involved. I don’t want to do that, Joaninha. I don’t want things to get any uglier than they already are but…” He trails off and shakes his head, turning his focus to César. “I won’t risk losing him.”
The mention of that word—Pack—makes my mouth run dry. The Pack is powerful and I’m…not. Jordy can make demands, ask for even more than he’s asking for now, and there is a good chance he would get it. I can’t afford a lawyer and even if I could, no human court is going to go up against the Pack. Even I know that.
If the Pack gets involved, if they think I’m being unfair, they could try and take César away from me and—I swallow hard—I think they’d succeed.
I drop my head and close my eyes, pulling in a lungful of air. “Okay,” I whisper, my heart aching in my chest and I raise my gaze to his. “We’ll put it in writing.” At least this way, I have a layer of protection too.
He nods once.
“But—”
He frowns.
“The rest we do my way. I’m his mom. He doesn’t know you yet, and you’re a seventeen-year-old guy with no clue how to look after a baby. I’m not going to just send him off with you after one introduction.”
His jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring. “I won’t let you keep him from me, Joaninha.”
“I don’t want to. I just…” I exhale a loud breath. “He’s only nine months old. He’s still breastfeeding.”
His eyes drop to my chest, and a dark look passes over his face before he blinks it away.
“I think you should come here for visits, at least to start,” I say and when it looks like he’s about to argue I rush to add, “Let him get to know you. Let…let me get to know you so I don’t freak out when you walk out the door with the most important person in my universe.Please.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks. “Fine,” he manages to bite out, and I release the breath I’d been holding.
“Thank you.”
56
Jordy
This moment is surreal, seeing my kid play with his toys and bring them to me like he knows me. As if we’ve been doing this his whole life.
My kid.
Fuck. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact I’m a dad.
César stumbles across the floor, his tiny legs unsteady, and with each step he takes, I tense, waiting for the moment when he loses his balance and I need to catch him. Somehow, he manages to stay on his feet, his arms held out and a drooly grin on his face.
We watch him play for half an hour when all of a sudden he gets angry with one of his cars, yelling at the thing like it somehow offended him before crawling to Joaninha and shoving his little hand down the front of her shirt.
“Sorry.” Her cheeks turn pink. “I think he’s hungry.” She gets up from the floor, about to leave the room, and I realize I don’t want her to. It would be one more thing I don’t get to be involved in.
“Feed him here.” It comes out like an order, my wolf’s growl in my voice. She scowls and is about to argue when I add, “Please.” Both man and wolf want to be a part of this. A part of everything.
She nods once, and her cheeks turn an even brighter shade of pink.
I try not to stare as she lifts him up and positions herself on the sofa, my boy in her arms. She grabs a blanket from the back of the sofa and attempts to cover herself up as she pulls her shirt up just enough for César to reach her breast, but he isn’t having it. If anything, her attempts at modesty make it worse because instead of burying his face in her boobs—something that, I won’t lie, sounds appealing because she’s got great tits—he’s fighting with her, yelling and flailing his tiny hands in the air to get the covering off.
